The Wolf Tree (2 page)

He wore a toby around his neck. When he first met Mother Salagi, the old seer sewed spells into the red flannel pouch to protect its contents. And as Ray journeyed, learning more and more, the toby grew heavy with charms: nine shoestring-shaped roots, a twig of elder, a twist of rue, Hobnob’s dandelion flower, goofer dust, a ball of bluestone, a pair of Indian-head pennies, a tin of saltpeter, and assorted other
herbs and objects. Among them, he also carried the golden rabbit’s foot—his father’s hand.

And in time, without ceremony or decoration, Ray knew he had become a Rambler.

As he passed the first of the bottletrees, the lodge came into sight. The sun had dropped below the ridgeline. Ray thought nothing was more beautiful than returning to Shuckstack in the half-dark, its golden windows illuminated from within by the firelight, and the sound of all those chirping voices bouncing off the mighty trees nestled up against the millpond.

He was home.

Ray saw that preparations had begun for Nel’s eighty-first birthday party. Several canvas tents had been erected, reminding him of smaller versions of the one that had been used by the medicine show. A small corral had been built since he last left, most likely to house the horses of the coming guests. Sniffing toward one of the outbuildings, Ray could smell several deer, salted and hanging from the rafters and awaiting the feasts.

The hog trotted from around the barn, the bandanna no longer around its neck, and dashed for the trees. The front door of the lodge swung open. Dmitry, who was ten, and one of the oldest of the children rescued from Mister Grevol’s train, ran out onto the long porch stretching across the front of the lodge. His eyes widened as he saw Ray. He held up the bandanna as he shouted, “He’s home!”

Mattias was out the door next. The two boys raced down
the stairs into the yard, running to meet Ray. Voices, cheerful and curious, emerged from within Shuckstack’s lodge. Figures pushed their way out from the doorway, some coming down the steps to beat Dmitry and Mattias to be the first to greet Ray, others waiting along the rails of the porch.

Ray heard his name over and over, picking out each speaker: Si, Nel, Marisol, Buck, Felice, Naomi, Rosemary, Oliver, George, Dale, Preston, Noah, Adam, Carolyn, and Sally.

They were all there.

Each and every one.

All but Jolie.

The lodge on Shuckstack Mountain had once been a sawmill, abandoned decades earlier. When Nel led them up the mountain the summer before, all that remained was the stone foundation beside a crumbling dam on the creek, a broken waterwheel, and a heart-pine floor buried under the collapsed frame of the mill. Although more than half of the nineteen hands had been children, they had cleared the rubble, cut the logs, and built a home.

As Ray came up the stairs to the porch, the children battled fiercely to greet him, to take his things, to ask if he’d seen any panthers this time, to pull him this way and that as each wanted to show him some new toy or to tell stories of what he’d missed over the winter.

Quieting the row took an irritated roar by the ragged-faced cowboy Buck, followed by the old pitchman Nel’s
gentler, “Give him a moment’s repose to settle in. Recede! Regress! Rosemary, Carolyn, stop pulling at his arms. Poor Ray looks half-frozen. Yes, yes, there will be time to beguile Ray with your salamander soon, Adam. Come over to the fire, Ray. Naomi, fetch Ray some supper. Back away, Dale….”

Soon Ray was sitting before the blazing hearth in the den that stretched across the main floor of Shuckstack’s lodge. He had a plate on his knees and sopped at the last of his beans and orpine drippings with fried acorn cakes. Mattias and Dmitry took turns telling a story about a black bear that had chased them from Two Eagle Mountain.

Listening to the boys’ story, Nel leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs at the ankle so the mahogany peg rested on the wrinkle of leather at his boot. He grinned widely behind his briarwood pipe. Peg Leg Nel was lean and strong for being on the eve of eighty-one. Ray felt if it hadn’t been for the pompadour of silver-white hair, he would never have guessed him to be that old.

The children were scattered on the floor or in the hand-fashioned chairs and benches of split logs. Marisol, raven-haired and lovely in her spangled dress, listened with the smallest, five-year-old Noah, nestled in her lap. Her copperhead, Javidos, coiled down in Noah’s lap, but the boy showed no more fear of the fat, blond-and-brown striped snake than if it were a kitten.

Beside Buck sat Si with a blanket to her chin. She was so bundled up, Ray half imagined she was bound for some escape routine as she’d done in the medicine show. But when
he noticed the dark circles under her eyes, he realized she must be ill.

Sally had settled beside Ray on his bench, her arms locked in his and her eyes growing animated as Mattias and Dmitry recounted each exciting moment. Ray thought how much she looked like Ray’s and her mother. Over the past year, Sally had sprung up skinny like a poplar sapling. Her small upturned nose was sprinkled with freckles, and her eyelashes fell across her cheeks when she blinked.

Nel’s barking laugh pulled his attention back to the story. “How did you learn to do hoodoo, Mattias?”

“From Ray,” Mattias answered. “He tried to show us the spell a while back. But it didn’t work.”

Dmitry, whose hair, even his eyebrows and lashes, was so blond as to be white, chimed in, “Well, we couldn’t remember if you were supposed to put the goofer dust in the jar first or scoop the footprint dirt first.”

“Besides,” Mattias said, “the bear was charging too fast and then we—”

“Footprint charm,” Nel interrupted once more, looking at Ray. “Where did you get ahold of goofer dust?”

Mattias and Dmitry stopped with mouths left expectantly open to continue as soon as Ray finished his reply. “From that root worker I met down on the Pamlico.”

Deep folds of wrinkles tightened around Nel’s eyes, and he seemed to struggle to hold his smile. “Of course…. He showed you the charm also?”

Ray replied, “No. Mother Salagi taught it to me.”

Nel’s fingers went reflexively to his neck, to the amulet he wore. The silver fox paw had once been his leg, before the Hoarhound severed it and his Rambler powers were lost.

“Oh. Well. Of course.” Nel waved with his hand to turn the attention back to Mattias and Dmitry. “Resume your yarn, boys.”

As Mattias and Dmitry both exploded to recount how the bear had chased them across Hanson Knob, Ray glanced down at Sally. Her mouth was pursed as she leafed through the book in her lap.
The Incunabula of Wandering
.

“What are you looking up?” Ray whispered.

Sally closed the book, with her hand still marking the page. “Nothing.” She smiled and turned her attention back to Mattias and Dmitry.

Eventually the story concluded. A few of the children acted out the dramatic episode, some playing the bear, others vying for the roles of Mattias or Dmitry. Marisol whispered to Javidos, and he slid up her arm to her neck. She rose with the already sleeping Noah in her arms. “It’s getting late. Everybody off to bed.”

There was a general grumbling until Marisol added, “We’ve got a busy day tomorrow. Lots to do and our first guests may arrive.”

At the anticipation of strangers coming for Nel’s party, the children broke into excited chatter. Carolyn helped Marisol shepherd the children up the stairs to the loft. “What story do you want tonight?” Marisol asked.

“The one about the giant vacaroo!” Preston shouted.

“Ismael is a
vaquero
, not a vacaroo,” Carolyn, the oldest of the rescued children, said.

Marisol brushed them forward. “You’re not tired of Ismael yet?”

“No!” the children cried together, even the older ones. “Ismael the vacaroo!” they began to chant.

“Vaquero,”
Carolyn tried to correct.

“Say ‘good night,’” Marisol said.

Marching in a line to the toasty loft above, the children chirped out good-nights to Ray and Mister Nel and Si and even Buck.

“Finally some peace,” Buck grumbled as the last footsteps disappeared overhead. Ray smiled, thinking how often he had seen Buck showing one of the children how to whittle a duck call or string up a reed fishing pole.

Nel plucked his pipe from his mouth and gestured with it toward Si. “Your tonic? Did you remember—”

“I drank it with dinner,” she said, pulling the blanket up around her shoulders.

“Tonic?” Ray asked. “You’re sick?”

“Just a little injury,” Si said.

“She was stabbed,” Nel said gruffly.

“What!” Ray sat up. “Who … how did that happen?”

Si shifted uncomfortably and looked over at Buck, who was rubbing his hands before the fire, his long black-and-silver locks hanging over his eyes.

“Long story, Ray, but it was over in Knoxville,” she said. “Buck and I went to trade some ginseng roots and some of
Nel’s tonics for supplies. I guess the short of it is that they don’t care much for my kind.”

“Could have been any of us,” Nel said, to which Si gave a snort.

Ray tilted his head. “What do you mean, Si?”

“Chinese girl carrying a purse full of coins. You get a couple of buckaroos wanting some easy liquor money … Buck was finishing up the trade, and I went out to buy some peppermint sticks to bring back as gifts. Should have known not to take a shortcut by the river. Luckily, Buck got there in time.”

Ray couldn’t believe it. Si stabbed! And for just a few coins. It had been a long time since Ray lived in the city. He had been to Knoxville twice, and it was nothing compared to where he had grown up in lower Manhattan.

“Dark times,” Nel said, shaking his head. “I don’t know what’s come over folk today, but we’re lucky to have this place, very fortunate to have Shuckstack, far away from the growing madness.”

Buck raised his head. “Your sister saved her,” he said, his dry voice cracking.

“Sally?” Ray asked. “What do you mean?”

Nel nodded. “Amazing girl, your sister. Buck got Si back up here. He’d cleaned and dressed the wound as good as one could desire, but a fever took Si. I tried every herb and concoction I knew, but she was getting worse. We had nearly given up hope when Sally came up with the answer. A simple flower. The Gertrude’s Diadem. I’ve never worked with them
before. They’re very rare. But Sally was convinced it would cure Si. She found the flower. I made a tea of it. Si was better within hours. It’s a wonder, Ray. A true wonder.”

Ray blinked with surprise. How had his sister known to use that flower? She knew little about surviving in the wild. She had no idea how to make a fire or how to feed herself in the forest.

Unlike Ray, who had journeyed far and deep in the wild to become a Rambler, Sally spent little time away from Shuckstack. More often than not, she could be found reading the treasured book that had belonged to their father,
The Incunabula of Wandering
. How she could understand the strange, obtuse prose—or was it poetry?—Ray could not fathom.

Sally was convinced the book could explain what had happened to their father. Why he was missing even after Ray had rescued him from the Hoarhound. Why he had not found his children yet.

Si stood with the blanket draped about her arms. “I should get to bed.” She seemed momentarily unsteady and grasped the back of the chair. Buck rose, but Si brushed him away. She caught the sympathetic wince on Ray’s face and said, “I’m okay. Don’t fret over it. Glad to have you home, Ray. Good night.”

They bade her good night, and Ray watched as Si slowly ascended the creaking stairs.

Buck leaned closer to the fire. He shivered, crossing his arms and rubbing his hands briskly across his elbows. Nel tilted his head back, drawing deeply on his pipe and sending steamboat puffs drifting above his fleecy white head. Ray
allowed the sweet, familiar scent of the tobacco to drive away the thoughts of Si’s injury.

Ray broke the peaceful silence. “How about Redfeather? Will he be back for the party?”

Nel blinked. “Oh, no. He’s still out in the Indian Territory. It’s too far of a journey for a party, and he needs to continue his learning.”

“Learning?” Ray asked. “I thought he was just traveling. Who is he learning from?”

“A Cherokee elder,” Nel said. “An old friend named Water Spider. He left these mountains a lifetime ago when General Scott drove the Cherokee west at bayonet point. We had many adventures together as young men. I haven’t seen him in decades. When Redfeather wrote that he was visiting the Territory, I told him how to find old Water Spider.”

Buck prodded the logs in the fireplace. “And how did your winter go?” he asked before dropping back into his seat.

“I wasn’t able to cross,” Ray said bluntly.

The lines in Buck’s ragged face tightened, but Nel remained placid, sucking at his pipe.

“Give it time, Ray,” Nel said. “You’ll learn.”

“Time?” Buck growled. “We don’t know how much time—”

“Buck,” Nel said in a low reprimand.

“No. He’s right, Nel,” Ray said. “I’ve got to find a way and soon. Mother Salagi said so.”

“Did she?” Nel asked.

“It’s the Machine!” Buck said through gritted teeth. “I’ve been telling you this, Nel.”

“Yes, yes you have, but I don’t share your pessimistic paranoia.”

“Paranoia? That Machine is still out there.”

Nel frowned and shook his head. “But its maker is not. The Gog is dead, Buck. He’s dead and we’re all fortunate for … for Conker’s sacrifice. The Machine is no longer a threat to us.”

“That’s not what Mother Salagi said,” Ray said. “I visited her on my way home. She has been casting bones, searching for answers with her charms. She hasn’t figured out what’s happened to the Machine, but she fears it’s still powerful. Even without the Gog! She sees danger ahead—”

“Well, we’ve got Shuckstack,” Nel said, stomping his peg leg to the pine floor. “Why do you think we built this place? Why did I bring them all here? We’re safe. This place. These mountains. The children, all of us. We’re protected.”

Buck’s jaw ground back and forth. “But
they
aren’t. The others out there. What good is it for us to hide when others will suffer? Don’t you see what wickedness the Machine is hatching? Killers! Thieves! The men who stabbed Si … their viciousness is the work of the Machine’s growing madness.”